That's My Boy
by The Island Hopper
Summary: James, now in the Afterlife, finally gets his chance to see what's happened since his death. He asks Dumbledore to send help to Harry, and Dumbledore knows just who to send...CHAPTER 3!
1. James Discovers

**Title: **That's My Boy

**Author: **The Island Hopper the_island_hopper@hotmail.com

**Summery: **James, now in the Afterlife, doesn't know anything that's happened since his death. Eager to know the full story, he seeks the services of someone who can fill him in on the last eight years…

**A better summery:** This story is set in James' afterlife. (Notice I'm trying to be as PC as I can by using the term "afterlife". Nice, huh?) He knows nothing about what's happened since his death: Harry's defeat of Voldemort as a baby, Sirius' imprisonment, Harry's current residence at the Dursleys, nothin'! He seeks the services of a risp, an entity that can see into the living world and report happenings on loved ones. He's shocked at what he learns…

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"Potter, James," a willowy voice called out. 

"Finally," James muttered bitterly, following a ghoul into the small, smoky room. A risp was there waiting for him. "What in hell took you so long? I've only been waiting out there for eight years!" James cried at the small entity in front of him. 

The risp, an entity whose job it was to show the dead what they were missing on earth, scowled. "Look, I've got a life beyond this job, you know." 

"What do you mean, you've got a life? You're dead for Chrissakes, we all are! And its your duty to help me watch over my loved ones, and so far I haven't been able to. I haven't even _seen_ my son since my death, do you realize that?" James ranted, going on and on about the bad service and negligence of this so called "afterlife". 

The risp help up his hands in defeat. "All right! All right! We'll get down to business. Come, have a seat." 

James took a seat across from the risp and glared at him. "Well? How does this work?" 

Tiredly, the risp rubbed his eyes and sighed. "Its very simple. You see this large medallion at my feet? Well, you tell me what you want to see and I show it to you. Its that simple." 

Frowning, James said again, "It took you bloody long enough. Why was I assigned to you, anyway? I know people here who got to look in on their lives the _second_ they left their bodies. I've been out there waiting for—"

"Eight years, yes, I know," the risp snapped in a brisk tone. "We've just been a little backed up." 

"A _little?!_" James cried. 

"All right a lot!" The risp wiped his forehead. "To tell you the truth, I'm not very good at this. I didn't want this job, you know. I was given it. So don't harass me. I don't want to be here as much as you _do_ want to be here." 

"But something tells me you didn't have to wait as long as I did. C'mon, fire this thing up," James said, kicking the large medallion at his feet. 

The risp balked. "Stoppit! I only get one of these, you know. Just be patient." 

"I've been patient for—"

"Eight years, I _know!_ All right, here we go," the risp said, nervously moving his hands over the medallion and muttering spells to himself. James watched impatiently as the surface of the medallion began to change colors and swirl. 

"How long is this going to take?" 

"Not long," the risp said through clenched teeth, already sick of his client. "Now, what do you want to see?"

Without hesitation, James replied, "My son. Harry." 

"Harry…Potter…" the risp whispered lovingly to the medallion. "Show me Harry Potter…" 

James looked intently into the surface of the medallion as a normal looking home slowly melted into view. "What? What's that? It almost looks like a Muggle home!" 

"If you'll just give me a minute, I'll be able to tell you everything," the risp said in an official voice. "We risps get messages, you know. About your loved ones." 

"Yes, I know. That is your job, isn't it?" James said in a smarmy voice. The risp sniffed in an annoyed way. "So can you tell me about my son? Can you tell me about Harry?" he asked in a more excited tone. 

"Hmm," the risp mused, taking his time. The medallion continued to show the Muggle house. "This is where Harry lives," the risp began. "Harry is nine years old." 

"I know that! Who does he live with? Sirius? Remus? Its Sirius, right? It must be. He's Harry's godfather. And, well, Remus has his little transformation every month. That would be a mite odd for a toddler, aye? But Sirius wouldn't live in a house like this, even if he had to be a domestic father. Of course I didn't exactly expect a bachelor pad, but wow, Sirius must have taken a turn down the conservative road while I've been gone—"

"He does not live with Sirius Black," the risp interrupted in a cold voice. "Nor does he live with Remus Lupin." 

"No?" James stuttered in a surprised voice. "He doesn't live with either one, you say?" 

"He lives with the ones called 'Dursley'," the risp said in a distracted tone, peering hard down at the medallion. 

James sat in shock for a moment before speaking. He had to open and shut his mouth a few times before any audible sound would emerge. "The D-Dursleys? You don't mean Petunia and Vernon, do you? Why, you must be mad!" 

"I am not mad. He lives with the ones called Dursley. The medallion doesn't lie." 

"B-But the Dursley's hate us! And besides, they're miserable people! The biggest Muggles on the face of the earth! Why in hell would they take Harry in?" 

"They had no choice." 

"They had no choice? What do you mean?" 

The risp settled back in his chair, obviously preparing for a long night of explaining. "After you died, a Professor Dumbledore insisted that Harry go and live with his relatives." 

"Why? Stop being so damned vague!" 

"Lord Voldemort killed both you and your wife. However, when he tried to kill Harry, something happened. He couldn't." 

"Voldemort couldn't kill a baby? What, you mean the monster had a heart after all?" 

"No, he physically couldn't kill him. He tried, but the curse bounced back, and hit Voldemort. Your son—Harry—defeated the Dark Lord." 

James stared at the risp in utter disbelief. His son, his then one year old son, had defeated _Voldemort?_ "W-Wha-How?" 

The risp shrugged. "No one knows." 

It took James a moment to fully digest what the risp had told him. Harry had defeated—wiped out—destroyed—obliterated—the Dark Lord. He swallowed hard and a small smile crept over his face. "That's my boy," he whispered proudly to himself. 

"That's not the end of the story," the risp said, jolting James from his thoughts. "You are curious as to why Harry was sent to live with the Muggles, correct?" 

"God, yes! Why wasn't Sirius made his guardian? Show me Sirius!" 

"All right," the risp said quietly with a disturbing smile slipping over his face. The medallion's surface began to shift again. From the brightly colored streets of a cheerful neighborhood, the shapes and colors distorted into a dank, dark place. It showed a small room, occupied by a lone man, whose shaggy black hair and gaunt face stood out in contrast to the gray of his surroundings. 

"Who's that?" James demanded. The risp said nothing and James took a closer look. He gasped. "Sirius! Where is he? What's going on?" 

"Azkaban," the risp said simply, in an almost indifferent tone. 

"Az-Azkaban?" James stuttered in a shocked voice. "How could he be in Azkaban? Sirius, in Azkaban? Are you sure?" 

The risp made an apathetic movement with his hand. "He was blamed for your death." 

"Blamed for our death? Sirius? It wasn't his fault, it was that bloody Peter, I knew that much even before I died! Sirius was trying to keep our whereabouts a secret! He didn't do anything!" 

"No one knows that," the risp said, smiling cruelly. "And the only ones who do are dead or imprisoned." 

"Sirius…in Azkaban...blamed for our death…unbelievable…" James muttered to himself, rubbing his hand over his cheek. "Sirius was like my brother. Everyone knew he wouldn't betray me. Didn't Remus stick up for him?" 

The risp shrugged. "What could Remus do? Certainly all the evidence was against Sirius. No one knew you had switched secret keepers at the last second. That's why there was no evidence to contradict Sirius' guilt." 

James sunk lower into his seat and gazed sadly at the medallion, which was still focused on the now unrecognizable Sirius Black. "Oh Sirius…I'm so sorry…" James whispered, fighting back a tear. 

"After you and your wife were killed, and Harry had defeated Voldemort, he was famous. Every wizard knew his name," the risp said. "Dumbledore thought it unwise for him to grow up in a wizarding community. He didn't want it to turn Harry's head." 

"Fair enough. But Petunia and Vernon? And that little prat of theirs, Dudley? Why them?" 

The risp shrugged again. "Wanted Harry to grow up humble and modest, I suppose. Thought it best for him." The risp sighed. "So do you want to see your son, or not?" 

"Yes, yes!" James said eagerly, clawing the edges of his seat. "Show me Harry!" Slowly the medallion started to change colors again, and before long displayed the small figure of a boy asleep in a dark place. "Who's that? No, no, I want to see Harry! _Harry Potter_!" James shouted down at the medallion, as though it could hear him. 

"Only I may give it commands!" the risp cried in a shrill voice. "And that _is_ Harry Potter. Like I said, the medallion doesn't lie." 

A piercing voice that James remembered belonging to Petunia rang out from the medallion. "Potter! Get up and come toast the toast! Your cousin is hungry!" James watched in silence as the small dark haired boy sat up and put on round glasses. 

"Where is he? Why is it so small and dark?" 

"He lives in a cupboard." 

"A _cupboard_?!" 

They both watched as Harry emerged from the cupboard under the stairs, looking tired and frazzled. James got his first good look at his son and his heart jumped. 

"God, he's the spitting image of me! Look at that! A chip off the ol' block!" he laughed, feeling happy for the first time in years. 

"I'm coming," Harry muttered sleepily, rubbing his eyes and making his way to the kitchen. He took two pieces of toast from the breadbox and put them in the toaster. Dudley, as James remembered him, didn't look much different eight years later as he did when he was a baby: fat, pink and spoiled looking. 

"I'm hungry!" Dudley wailed as he plunked himself down at the table. "When do we eat?!" 

"As soon as Harry is done with that toast," Petunia said disdainfully, looking down at Harry as though he was something quite nasty. James shot up out of his chair.

"How dare she look at my son that way, and speak about him like that, as though he wasn't even in the room! That's my son, by God, we _died_ for him, and this is the thanks we get?! Why, if I had my wand, I'd—"

"Please," the risp said patiently. James seated himself, still fuming. 

Harry looked lost in his thoughts as he waited for the toast to pop up. James watched him carefully, soaking up every feature, knowing that this may be the last time he would see him for a while. _He doesn't know anything. About us, about him, his past, that he's a wizard, nothing. I can see it in his eyes. He knows nothing. And he's unhappy. My son is unhappy. Does he know? Does he know that his parents loved him enough to die for him? Does he know I waited eight years just for this moment, just to see his face? Does he know that he did a great deed for witches and wizards alike? He doesn't know that he's special. _James sighed. _And he doesn't even know that his mother and I loved him, and continue to love him. _

James continued to watch his son with a sort of loving awe. The minutes passed and he watched Harry eat his meager breakfast, miss the bus, and trudge to school, all the while with an expression of patient tolerance. "He doesn't even know he's special," James whispered to himself out loud. "But look at him. He carries on enduringly, not asking questions, not giving up. He doesn't resent the life he's been dealt. He is, wholly and solely, Harry Potter, my son." Despite himself, James found himself smiling broadly, prouder than he'd ever been in his life or after life. "That's my boy," he whispered. 

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	2. Contact

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A/N: Before anyone else tells me in the reviews, yes, I know Lily isn´t in this much, yes, I know this is turning into an AU fic, and yes, I know I have and will continue to overdo the Dursleys treatment of Harry. That´s just how it is. Deal. Thanks for the reviews-I really appreciate all of your kind words.

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Professor Albus Dumbledore yawned loudly and sank down into his bed, grateful for the good night´s rest in front of him. Some of Hagrid´s giant mutated gerbils had escaped from his thatched hut today, and had terrorized Hogwarts all morning. As if that wasn´t chaotic enough, trying to catch them had proved more difficult than one might imagine, and the now rabid gerbils had fled into the plumbing. _Gerbils in the plumbing, _he chuckled to himself. _Just another day in the life of a Hogwarts headmaster..._

Dumbledore quickly fell into a deep slumber. He was dreaming about playful artichokes dancing in a field of cheerful barely when suddenly his surroundings vanished and he was in the Hogwarts library. Sitting down as if expecting someone, he was not at all surprised when James Potter, a former student, poked his head out from behind a bookcase and grinned.

"I wondered if it would be you," Dumbledore said gently with a smile. "I´ve been expecting a visit from you for a long time, James."

"You´re plenty asleep, then? So we can talk?" James said in a voice that Dumbledore remembered so well.

"Yes, of course. I never awaken from a conversation."

"Good," James sighed in relief, taking a seat across from Dumbledore. "How´s Hogwarts these days, Professor?"

"Gerbils in the plumbing."

"I see. So not much different?"

"No, not really. What brings you here tonight, James? I must ask what took you so long?"

James´ face darkened somewhat. "A bloody risp. The fool. Got behind on his clients. I applied for a new one, you know. Can´t stand the one I´ve got. A snotty little git at that."

"I see. I´m assuming this is about Harry, then?"

"Yes," James said urgently. "I´m worried about my son sir. I understand you wanted him to grow up to be humble and not exposed to fame, but have you even looked in on him?"

"A few times," Dumbledore said, stroking his beard. "I know its not the most loving 

environment, but - "

"You can say that again," James said hotly. "Why hasn´t he been moved?" 

Dumbledore sighed. James hadn´t changed; still determined, still bull-headed. Something was oddly comforting about that. He laughed softly. "Oh James, so many reasons. He´s safer there, for one. Have you thought of that?"

James was silent for a moment, lost in thought. "I...I suppose you´re right there..." he said, sounding somewhat defeated.

"The Dursleys aren´t doing him any harm that can´t be reversed. For now, it´s the best place for him, plain and simple."

James looked peeved, but convinced. "But can´t anything be done? Can´t anyone...go over there, or something?"

Dumbledore arched an eyebrow. "´Go over there´?"

"You know, can´t Harry have some sort of wizard mentor, or something? So he doesn´t think that all adults are miserable creatures? So he doesn´t think _he´s_ a miserable creature?"

Even eight years after his death, James could still take Dumbledore by surprise. "I must say James, that´s not an altogether bad idea."

"Of course its not," James said pompously. "I thought of it, didn´t I?"

Dumbledore couldn´t help but smile at James´ haughtiness. If death hadn´t deflated James´ ego, nothing ever would. "Have you talked to Lily about this?"

"Yes, of course. She feels the same way. Even more so, I´d say. She would have come tonight, but she had a rendezvous with James Dean, that bloody American. She always did have a thing for him. Let her go, I say, because once I find Marilyn Monroe - "

"James, James, James," Dumbledore laughed quietly. "I know you don´t have all night to say what you came here to say."

"That´s right, they put me on a ten minute limit. Can you _believe_ that? I said to them, I said - "

"James."

"Oh, right. Got about two minutes left, Professor, so I´ll just say what I need to." James´ presence took on a more serious air and he continued in a pleading voice,

"Please sir, we love our son. We loved him enough to die for him. I know you did what you felt was right, but it still tears me apart to see my son suffering. I wish I could relate to you in words how it feels to see your son degraded and mistreated. He´s so small, and pale, and quiet. I can see it in his eyes, Professor, he´s horribly unhappy! But my little son is so brave, he just carries on in spite of the life he´s leading. He doesn´t know any different. He doesn´t know that he doesn´t deserve getting the smallest portions at the dinner table, or getting teased in school, or humiliated at home. He doesn´t know, and its not fair! Its not fair that I can´t help him! Its not fair that he has to live this way, and all I can do is watch! Believe me Professor, more than anything I just want to scoop him up in my arms and tell him that he´s wanted, he´s needed, he´s _loved_ by someone, even if we can´t be near him! Please, please, _please_ Professor Dumbledore, please send someone to my son that he can look up to! Someone that can tell him that he´s important, that he´s not worthless, that he deserves to be here just as much as anyone else! I can´t be there for my son, but please, he needs someone who can be! Won´t you do this for us, Professor? Won´t you?"

Dumbledore studied the heartbroken face of a boy he once knew so well. He had never seen James quite so serious which is why he felt so compelled to help him. Every fiber in Dumbledore´s body screamed that it wasn´t fair what had happened to James and Lily, and that Harry deserved to have parents. Maybe he could do the next best thing. "Yes James. I will do this thing for you and Lily, and for Harry."

Relief flooded James´ face and a grin reappeared. "Oh, thank you sir! We appreciate more than you could ever imagine!" James´ ears perked at an invisible noise and an annoyed look crossed his face. "They´re calling me back. I have to go. So you´ll take care of it then?" Dumbledore nodded. James grinned broadly and waved goodbye. "Thank you again, sir. I´ll see you again soon." James slipped behind the bookcase from whence he came and all was silent in the library once again.

Dumbledore sat back in his seat, a small smile creeping across his face. "And I know just the man for the job..."


	3. Enter Remus

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"Thank you again, Professor Dumbledore," Remus said as he and the Headmaster slowly made their way down the corridor. "I can´t tell you how glad I am to be of service."

"Not only that, but I´m sure you´re glad to have a job again, am I right?" Dumbledore said lightly. Remus smiled sheepishly.

"I must admit, money was getting a little tight. But I´m glad to have the job all the same. Its important. For me and for Harry."

"You´re right, Remus," Dumbledore said after a moment´s silence. "This is extremely important. Harry needs someone, especially right now. He needs someone to talk to, to trust, someone who cares for him. I´m afraid he hasn´t gotten any of that at his current residence." Remus´ fists tightened at the mention of the Dursleys, but he stayed silent. 

"Even to have an adult look after him for a few hours every day or so should suffice. I want reports, too, Remus, on his condition. I worry about the boy, you know."

"I do too," Remus said in a small voice.

"Not that I think he´s coming to any real harm, of course, but his life could be much better than it is. For an nine year old, he´s been through a lot."

Remus only nodded at this statement, and thought about the task ahead of him. He had been summoned here by Dumbledore rather urgently. It befuddled Remus as to what Dumbledore could possibly want of him, but he came willingly nonetheless. Dumbledore had been exceedingly kind to him in the past, and he figured that any favor Dumbledore gave him wouldn´t be enough to repay the debt owed. He was surprised to learn that Dumbledore wanted him to go into the other world, to pose as a Muggle. He was even more surprised to learn that his task was that of being somewhat of a guardian to young Harry Potter - the son of his late best friend, James. Now Remus saw that this was not only a favor to Dumbledore, but also to that of his fallen friend, who had died tragically eight years earlier. The wounds were still fresh for Remus and he hoped that this would be his way of making peace with James and Lily´s passing.

Dumbledore had showed Remus many pictures of Harry growing up over the years. Of course, none of these pictures were taken with a camera - those horrible Muggles Harry lived with would have never taken a picture of him - but were instead created in a mist by Dumbledore. Remus had marveled at the striking physical similarities between Harry and James, and indeed, had fought back tears. But it wasn´t until Dumbledore summoned Harry´s personality that Remus actually felt sad. Harry was small, quiet, and withdrawn. He seemed to be frightened of his own shadow, and whenever he spoke it was almost in a whisper. It broke Remus´ heart to see the son of his best friend so obviously suffering. James had been boisterous, outgoing, funny and charismatic; Harry was the exact opposite of this.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Remus asked briskly, "When do I start?"

Dumbledore produced a packet of papers from the folds in his cloak and handed them to Remus. "This contains everything you´ll need for your stay. You have a lot to learn about Muggle life. Good luck, Remus," he said, shaking Remus´ hand. "You´re a good man."

"Professor," Remus stuttered, having worried about this for some time. "What about...what about...you know, full moons?"

"You´re responsible enough to know when they´re going to occur, Remus. Just lock yourself in your house until your transformation is over."

"What about...can I tell him...can I tell him about James?"

Dumbledore looked at him carefully, as if trying to come to a decision. "Yes," he said slowly, after a moment´s hesitation. "I´m only allowing this so Harry doesn´t grow up not liking his parents. Only tell Harry about his parents when you are _sure _that he trusts you, and you trust him. But make it _absolutely clear _to Harry that he mustn´t tell the Muggles that he is associating with anyone who knew his parents. Also, what ever you do, do not tell Harry about being a wizard." He smiled. "That will all come to him in time, I promise, Remus," Dumbledore said patiently. "You best be off, then."

"Yes, right," Remus sighed. "Thank you, sir, I - "

"No need," Dumbledore interrupted with a wave of his hand. Remus smiled, and prepared himself to apparate to 7 Privet Drive...


	4. The Juice Incident

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A/N: Pay attention, now, you could all learn something from this chapter. This chapter was, unfortunately, based on a similar experience of mine when I was a young `un. _Moral of the chapter_: Juice boxes have metal on their bottoms and baking soda should be used on small fires (enough of a teaser for you?) I don´t know why baking soda helps, but if you´ve experienced as many grease fires from dinner gone awry as I have, you stop asking questions and just use it. After a while, though, I got used to having all my food flambe style.

Mmm...flambe...

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The bus screeched to a halt at the corner of Privet Drive. A small dark haired boy with round glasses bounded off the bus first, and took a running start towards number 4 Privet Drive. He thought he´d never been so thirsty in all of his life; he´d spilled his milk at lunch time because he´d tripped over his shoelaces, and so hadn´t had anything to drink since breakfast. No matter; nothing could spoil his mood for the few precious hours he would have alone in the house. He found his afternoons were a lot more tolerable now that Dudley was enrolled in an after-school program, and Aunt Petunia had started to do her errands in the afternoon. Every day after school Harry had a few hours to himself, and it was always heavenly. He could eat however much he liked out of the refrigerator, and usually stored extra food in cupboard for later, in case the Dursleys forgot to let him out for dinner, which seemed to happen with some frequency. Harry would lounge on the couch and watch TV like a normal nine year old does after school, and he relished every minute of it. Once in a while he would even feel brave enough to play with some of Dudley´s toys, or maybe even the computer. Today, though, all of that could wait.

After he had unlocked the door with the key from under the mat, Harry ran into the kitchen and threw open the refrigerator door. He searched the refrigerator from top to bottom, but there were no juice boxes to be had. "Oh well," Harry muttered to himself. "I could just thaw one in the microwave." He dragged a stool from the corner of the kitchen over and plucked a frozen juice box from the freezer.

He punched in one minute on the microwave and dragged the stool to the cupboard so he could reach a glass. He was busy rooting around in the cupboard when he smelled something funny. He paused, took a deep breath, and noticed it was growing stronger. What was it? He sniffed his shirt; no, that wasn´t it. Was it the cupboard? No, that wasn´t it. The only other thing it could be was--

"Ahhhh! The juice!" Harry cried, leaping off the stool and ripping the microwave door open. Small flames were fast devouring the box of apple juice. "Baking soda! Where´s the baking soda!" Harry shrieked to no one in particular. Frantically, he dragged the stool over to the large hanging shelf that held all of the big jars of flour, sugar, and, among other things, the baking soda. Harry grabbed the box and flung its entire contents in the general direction of the fire, seemingly covering everything in the kitchen except the fire in the microwave. Growling in frustration, he filled a glass up with water next and hurled it at the fire. A loud _hissssss_ and the fire was gone, but the mounds of baking soda covering the stove and the floor were not. Smoke was billowing out of the microwave and the juice box was firmly melted to the bottom. "Oh _no,_" he moaned, not even wanting to think what Aunt Petunia would say when she got home. His eyes widened at the thought of his aunt. "Oh no! Aunt Petunia!" Knowing he didn´t have much time before she got home, Harry, teetering off the edge of the stool, tried to put the empty box of baking soda back up on the top shelf. He managed to replace the baking soda only by grasping the side of the shelf, but a loud _crack _let Harry know about four seconds too late that it hadn´t been the best idea. All four boards on the shelf seemed to give out simultaneously and Harry watched with a mixture of amazement and horror as jars filled to the brim with honey, peanut butter, jam, olive oil, and everything in between crashed to the ground, creating a sea of unidentifiable slop on the kitchen floor. "Oh _no_," he repeated in a feeble voice.

A shrill scream from the doorway signaled Aunt Petunia´s arrival.

Harry grinned sheepishly from the stool where he was still perched. "I-I can explain, Aunt Petunia, see - "

"Wh-Wh-What _happened_? What did you _do_? What _is_ this??" she stammered loudly, motioning weakly to the mess on the floor. Harry ran one hand through his hair like he always did when he was nervous and bit his lip.

"See, I wanted some juice, and-but they were all frozen, see, so I had to um, so I had to get one out of the freezer, and uh...uh, I thought it´d be quicker if I, you know, if I heated it up in the microwave, but see, something went wrong, and it, and it catched on fire, 

and - "

"You put a juice box in the microwave?!" Aunt Petunia screeched up at him. "Of course it caught on fire you git, those juice boxes have metal on the bottom!"

Harry nodded vigorously. He was now dancing from foot to foot, eager to explain. "Uh huh, uh huh, see, I didn´t know that, I didn´t! So I knowed that I had to put baking soda on it, so I threw some at it, but it missed? Yeah, it missed, you know? So that´s why its all over the place? An´ so I had to get some water an´ I threw it an´ it put the fire out, but then the juice box melted to the bottom of the microwave - "

"It _what_?"

"Uh huh, uh huh, and so then I tried to put the baking soda back up on th´ shelf but I had to hanged on to the shelf to get it up there an´ the shelf it falled down an´ made this mess, see?" Harry finished triumphantly.

Aunt Petunia opened and closed her mouth a few times but no sound would emerge. 

Harry was worried her head might explode because he´d never seen anyone´s vein on their forehead throb that hard. He was just about to ask if maybe she wanted some juice when she screamed,

"Just like your mother and father! Incapable, incompetent, and stupid! Just plain stupid! They didn´t have any sense and neither do you! You can´t do anything right boy, you´re just a mistake that your uncle and I were burdened with!" Harry shrank back some; he was used to being yelled at, but it was never like this. "You´re worthless! You can mess up the littlest thing, do you realize that? Do you?! I knew we couldn´t trust you here alone, I knew you´d do _something_! Now look at this mess! It will take hours to clean up and you´ve ruined the microwave! You´re good for nothing, Harry Potter! I wish you had done us all a favor and died with your wretched, miserable parents in that car accident!"

Harry´s eyes were wide and filled with tears, but he had learned long ago that crying did nothing. It never brought any relief, only more screaming and yelling from Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. He could cry and cry, but nothing would ever get any better. He would always be strange Harry Potter with the big clothes and ugly scar. He would always be told that he wasn´t worth anything and that no one wanted him. Crying did nothing; so why were there hot tears cascading down his face?

"Blubber all you want, boy, you won´t get any sympathy from me!" Aunt Petunia snapped, getting out the mop from the closet. "If I were you, I´d put myself in my cupboard and stay there until your uncle got home. If you can´t behave yourself, he can sure show you the consequences. Now get out of here. Go!"

Without another word, Harry scampered off to his cupboard, dutifully putting himself inside and shutting the door tight. He put his arms around his knees and rocked back and forth, gritting his teeth and fighting the tears that threatened to fall. _I´m bad,_ he thought to himself. A small sob rose in his throat but Harry swallowed hard and squeezed his eyes shut. He wished for a moment that he had something to hold, like a stuffed teddy bear or soft blanket. He knew there were dozens of unwanted things in Dudley´s room that were never used, soft things that were good for holding on to when you were in trouble. He wished he had one of those things. Better yet, he thought, I wish I had a person to hold on to.

Harry huddled down in his bed that was just barely big enough for him and cried silently into his moldy, flat pillow. He hadn´t been asleep for more than an hour when a loud banging tore Harry away from slumber. "Get up! _NOW!_" roared a familiar voice from behind his door.

"I´m coming!" Harry said in as pleasant a voice as he could muster. He sat up quickly, bumping his head on the ceiling in the process, and emerged from the cupboard. Uncle Vernon towered over him, beet red and fuming.

"I heard what you did this afternoon, boy! What´s more, I know you did it on purpose! You´re always trying to mess things up, aren´t you? Miserable little twerp that you are we should have known better than to leave you alone in our home! Now you listen to me," Uncle Vernon spat, grabbing Harry´s shoulder roughly, and shaking him. "You´re going outside until we can decide what to do with you."

"Outside!" Harry whined. "Bu-But its cold!"

"_So what!"_ Uncle Vernon bellowed, thrusting him towards the door. "Get out there!"

A cold blast of air sent a chill down Harry´s spine as he heard the door slam behind him. He plopped down on the garden bench and clenched his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering. He rested his head in his hands, and gazed longingly up at the stars. "Mum? Dad?" he whispered. "Are you up there? I wonder if you can hear me." Harry listened intently for a moment, almost listening for a response, but the only thing he heard was the sound of an owl hooting in the tree above him. "Well, just in case you are listening, maybe...maybe I could ask you a favor. Not a big one, but, well, I...I could use some help, Mum and Dad. Anything you could send me would be all right. Anything at all. Ok?"

"All right, get back in here!" Uncle Vernon called out the back door to Harry. "And get to bed! No dinner!"

Harry trotted off to bed as he was told. As he passed by the kitchen table, he didn´t notice a scrap of paper with an ad scribbled on it that Aunt Petunia would put in the paper the next day:

Sitter needed for nine year old boy.

Daily basis. 

Please call at 4 Privet Drive for interview. 

****

_____________________


	5. Problem Child

****

Author's Notes: _PREPARE YOURSELVES! _Remus will not have an alias. I thought about it for a while, and did all the usual things when you're contemplating a plot twist: meditated on it, listened to a Zen CD, organized my entire house according to Feng Shui principles, practiced my chi, made circles in a Zen garden, chanted, danced nekid, ran around the neighborhood screaming, etc. But I decided it would be easier for both me and the readers if he just stuck with his regular name. Before you begin screaming and asking frantic fragments of questions like, "Bu-But th-the book! The third book! Wh-What if Harry remem-" I must remind you that I am the author, I am aware of these things, I have rabid hamsters in my pants, and I know what I'm doing. Danke schon. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Remus straightened his tie in the mirror and looked himself over. _The Muggle clothes look surprisingly normal on me_, he thought as he inspected himself in the mirror from head to toe, looking for discrepancies. Professor Dumbledore had given him plenty of money to acquire all the Muggle necessities that he needed, like clothes, shoes, furniture, food, etc. Although living in a Muggle neighborhood and in a Muggle house was far from what he was used to, he had never before had nice furniture, or nice clothes, or even nice surroundings. Poor through childhood and even more so in adulthood, having nice, new things came as a welcome change to Remus. He had discovered quickly that Dumbledore had been exceedingly generous in his salary, either through ignorance of the Muggle money system or because Dumbledore felt he deserved it. Either way, Remus had furnished the house (_his_ house, he would think to himself with pride) with everything he had never had before. Finally, he had a warm bed to sleep in and a full refrigerator at his disposal. 

Smiling to himself, Remus noted with pleasure how much better he was feeling now that he didn't have to wear tattered clothes, or live in an apartment with a leaky roof, or survive on meager meals that most people would turn their nose up at. Then there was the unusual matter of his transformations. Usually, Remus felt tired and ill for a good four or five days after one of these transformations; they stole what little energy and spunk Remus had left within him. Two days ago, when Remus had turned back into a man, he didn't expect his recovery time to change at all. But now, a mere forty eight hours after changing back, Remus felt as good as new, even _better_ than new, and marveled at what a couple of quiet days at home could do for the spirit. 

Muggle life had been quite a change for Remus. This had come as a shock, seeing as how he had never really thought about the differences before. Installing and using a telephone had been an adventure in itself, not to mention things like microwaves and television. The television had been the most interesting thing for Remus; what better way to learn the Muggle lifestyle than by watching it on TV? He learned that, apparently, the most important things in a Muggle's life are hairstyle and weight. This puzzled Remus some, as he had never bothered too much with either. He was also amazed at the number of ads on TV, encouraging viewers to buy things they didn't need and that would sink them into debt. This idea of superfluous consumer goods and the advertising that had gone into them interested Remus intensely-sure, there were things in the wizarding world that one didn't need but wanted anyway, but it almost seemed minuscule next to the quantity of these unnecessary products in the Muggle world. Remus had stayed up late one night watching a program on the Salem Witch Trials and had spent most of the program doubled up in laughter. After that show had come something called an "infomercial". An informercial, as far as Remus could gather, was a long, boring show that no one watched but in which the hosts, raving at the quality and usefulness of a certain item, would desperately try to get consumers to buy it. This particular night the item had been a white plastic thing in which to chop radishes into pulp. He had pondered for a good minute or two on what pulped radishes might add to the culinary arts but couldn't come up with anything. He scratched his head and asked himself if one could actually _pulp _a radish, but that didn't seem important to the hosts, who were busy flitting on and off camera and gibbering compliments to the fool who'd invented it. Remus had finally turned it off, and a question that had been bothering him for some time finally seemed to have an answer. Most of the Muggles Remus had come in contact with were always in a hurry, and never seemed very friendly or happy. Maybe it was because they had spent their life chasing after things that didn't matter, and that they didn't really want. Maybe it was because they spent their lives working to afford things like radish pulpers. Maybe they had been told what to want for so long, that they didn't really know what they wanted anymore. Maybe things like love and friendship had gotten lost in the mix, and were sold piece by piece by smiling idiots on the television. 

For the first time in a long time, Remus felt really, truly blessed. He didn't have to worry about things like that. Whatever he had, he was glad to have it. He knew things could always be worse. He appreciated his friends and loved all of them, even those not living anymore. He was glad to have each day. Though he was poor, Remus could say that for the most part, he was a contented individual. It seemed that not many people in the Muggle world had that privilege. 

Looking at the clock on the wall, Remus realized it was high time he headed down to the Dursleys for his interview. Of course, he knew he would get the job-as soon as he discovered the ad in the newspaper, he put an invisibility charm on it so no one but him would be able to read it. Dumbledore had given Remus specific instructions on how to act around the Dursleys. "You can't act like yourself, Remus, you're far too good-natured," he had said. "Your job is to help Harry, even if that means assuming another personality when around his guardians. They like discipline and mediocrity. Try to sound as boring as you can," Dumbledore had finished with a small smile. 

Remus nodded to himself in the mirror. "Don't worry Professor, I won't let you down," he whispered. "And I won't let James or Lily or Harry down either." 

The Dursleys were only three houses down which enabled Remus to keep an eye on the family even when he wasn't looking after Harry. Dumbledore had been insistent that Remus stick close by, even with Arabella Figg living just a few doors away. 

Remus rang the doorbell of 4 Privet Drive and waited patiently. He tried to glance through the window but saw nothing. He was just about to ring the doorbell a second time when a tall, horse-faced woman threw open the door. 

"We don't want any insurance, thank you!" she said hotly, and tried to slam the door in his face. Remus stopped it with his foot. 

"I'm not a salesman, ma'am, I was here about the ad in the newspaper," Remus said quickly, his foot throbbing painfully. The woman's face immediately turned into a phony display of politeness. 

"Of course, of course. Won't you please come in?" she said, stepping back and ushering the way in. Remus smiled gratefully, shook his foot slightly and stepped inside. It was a completely normal house, Remus noted with curiosity. Somehow, when being told about the Dursleys, he had imagined they lived in a hovel of some sort, or at least a dungeon. This wasn't the case at all; it was a cozy looking household, well kept and covered in doilies. There were a few toys strewn around, but that was to be expected when there was two nine year olds in the house---

"Duddykins! Where's Mommy's big, strong, Ittsywittsyduddypoo?" the horse-faced woman cooed. Remus wondered if she was having some sort of fit in which she spoke in tongues, but before he could ask if she was all right, a round, stout boy with blonde hair stuck his head out of the kitchen doorway. 

"Whaaaaaat?!" he whined, with bits of food falling from his mouth. 

"We have a visitor Duddeycakes, and you need to come out here and pick up your toys!" 

The fat boy looked like he'd been slapped in the face. "But Muuuuuuummm! I'm eating my snaaaaaack! Make Haaaaary do it!" he bellowed, squinching up his face like he was about to cry. With this, he sort of went limp against the doorway, looking feeble and ill. "I've been at school all day Mum, and I'm hungry!" 

Remus thought to himself that what this kid ate could feed the country for a few years but kept his mouth shut. 

The horse-faced woman looked admiringly at her son for a moment, before her expression turned stony and she screeched, "Harry! Get down here!" 

Remus' eyes perked at the sound of Harry's name, but he thought it best to play it indifferent. "Ma'am, its really all right. Really, I don't care if there's a few toys around..." 

"I do. Its about time for him to help me make dinner anyway," she snapped at Remus. "Just you wait, he's a troublemaker, you'll see that right away." 

Remus looked away, musing on the fact that no one in the world could be a bigger troublemaker than Harry's father, when he heard a small voice say, 

"Yes, Aunt Petunia?" 

They both wheeled around to find a short, skinny pale little boy looking back up at them. Remus' breath caught in his throat and memories he hadn't thought of in years came rushing back at him: playing pranks with the Marauders, sitting up all night talking about the meaning of life with his friends, memories of Sirius and Peter, memories of James and Lily. 

"Clean up these toys and be snappy about it. We've still got to make dinner, you know." 

Harry nodded passively and went about collecting the toys from the floor. Before he even thought about it, Remus was helping him carry the heavier toys over to the toy box. 

"Hello Harry," Remus said nervously. "My name is Remus." 

Harry didn't even look up at him. "Hullo," he muttered before scurrying off to the kitchen. 

"He's not the sociable type," Petunia said, shaking her head. "Vernon and I have done all we can, but he's hopeless." Remus very much doubted this, but only nodded. 

"I'm used to his type. You know...disturbed," he said as drolly as he could. "I believe I could rectify his behavior. I have my ways." 

Petunia looked to him in high regard for a moment before saying in a dreamy voice, "Then you're the man for the job. He's difficult. Ungrateful and all of that. Needs someone to knock him back in line, you know. What did you say your name was?" 

"Remus Lupin," he said, holding out his hand. "And I can start tomorrow." 

"Wonderful!" Petunia cried, her face beaming. "Shall we talk business, then?" 

"Of course," Remus said, taking a cue from Petunia and sitting down on the couch. "How many hours a day are we talking about?" 

"Not more than three, I assure you. I wouldn't dream of leaving him there any longer than that with you; I like you too much," she snickered. Remus feigned a weak smile. "Of course, you'll have to keep him at your house. He nearly _ruined_ our house the other day, and we want to keep him away as much as we can." Remus clenched his jaw at this statement but kept a ambivalent expression. 

"That would be fine. I just live down the street at number 7." 

"Oh, the Finchley's house! Yes, I remember them quite well. They had a daughter who was, to say the least, _unmanageable_, if you know what I mean," Petunia prated. "And their lawn was a disgrace! I remember walking by there once and there must have been three, maybe four, _weeds_ standing _straight up_ in their driveway. Well, I came home and I said to Vernon, `Vernon, those _people_ live like animals. No wonder she's an alcoholic and he's a gambler.' Of course, I didn't know these things for sure, but I pride myself on having a sixth sense about people. I _just knew_, I don't know _how_ to explain it. But _really_, anyone with weeds in their driveway _must_ just be miserable people." 

"Yes, well, that's wonderful," Remus said briskly with a smile, hoping Petunia would shut up. He stood up. "I must be off. Child discipline seminar I'm teaching tonight, you know. Have to go home and get my whip," he chortled cheerfully. Petunia looked up at him in unbridled awe. 

"I'm _so_ glad you called on us, Mr. Lupin. I know you are exactly what Harry needs. Thank you so much for coming." 

"My pleasure, madam. I will be seeing you shortly," Remus said, shuffling for the door. He noticed Harry poking his head in the doorway of the living room. Remus smiled. "I'll be seeing you soon too, Harry," he said, winking. Harry looked at him in surprise and disappeared again. Remus peered back over at Petunia. 

"Not to worry, Mrs. Dursley. In a few weeks, you won't even recognize your nephew..."


	6. Remus' HouseHogwarts Treasure

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry trudged down Privet Drive as he heard the bus roar away behind him. He walked slowly, careful not to step on any cracks, and with his gaze turned downward. Today was the day he had to go to Mr. Lupin's house. He would never get to be alone in the Dursleys house ever again. Probably, Mr. Lupin would make him do yard work or wash the dishes, or _something_, but Harry was sure he wouldn't be doing anything he'd enjoy.

He'd overheard Mr. Lupin and Aunt Petunia talking the other night about what a bad child he was, and how he needed discipline. Harry supposed they were right; why else would his aunt and uncle get so mad at him all the time? 

Harry looked up as he walked past number 4. He gazed almost longingly at it and sighed. Only three more houses to go, he thought. He immediately slowed his pace even more as the house in question loomed on the horizon. 

Meanwhile, Remus was inside fiddling with a strange gargling thing that seemed to be connected to the bottom of the sink. "What in hell _is_ this thing?" he muttered angrily to himself, once again flipping a switch on the wall that seemed to activate a fierce growling from inside the sink. "Must be alive...maybe a small goblin, or something..." he mused. Although he liked to consider himself humane, he couldn't have a goblin down his sink, especially in a Muggle neighborhood, so he grabbed a fork and stabbed it into the drain. The whatever-it-was was fierce, and strong, and almost felt like it had metal teeth. Finally, after some fighting, Remus took the fork out and stared at the bent angles it now sported. He was pulled away from this interesting quandary when the doorbell rang. 

He opened the door to find Harry looking back up at him with a tattered book bag hanging over his right shoulder. Remus looked at his watch and smiled. "Goodness, can it be the afternoon already? Time flies, doesn't it? Come in, Harry!" he said cheerfully, waving the small boy inside. 

"Thank you," Harry muttered, slowly entering the house. He took a quick glance around; Mr. Lupin's house was nothing like his. In Harry's house everything had to be exactly where it was supposed to be, and if a speck of dirt was found Aunt Petunia would fly into a sanitizing frenzy that rivaled that of any domestic housewife whose life's work was reflected in the appearance of her home. By the looks of his house, Mr. Lupin didn't much care for cutesy knickknacks on the mantel or doilies on the armchairs. Where there would have been stiff armchairs in Harry's house were overstuffed chairs and couches that made Harry sleepy just to look at. The fireplace crackled invitingly, almost beckoning Harry with its dancing flames. A large bookshelf stocked to the top with ancient looking books donned one corner while a leather easy chair crowned the other. A huge tapestry rug completed the room, a proud maroon color, bringing the accents of the room together. 

"Well! Would you like a snack, Harry?" Remus said, interrupting Harry from his domestic musings and already walking towards the kitchen. 

Harry started; he hadn't been asked if he wanted a snack in a long time. In fact, the last time had been when Aunt Petunia had twelve pounds of leftover cheddar from Dudley's birthday party that had nearly gone off but which she felt too guilty to actually throw away. Ahh, the power of cheese. "Ok," he said, a bit brighter as he followed Remus into the large kitchen. 

"I must tell you, I don't know very much about children's eating habits. Just pick whatever you want out of the fridge," Remus said indifferently. Harry stared up at him in disbelief. 

"Really? Anything?" 

"Anything at all." 

Harry, whose stomach got the better of him, flew to the fridge and opened it. Towers of food gleamed down on him as the light from inside lit up Harry's face. His eyes landed hungrily on the pancake mix, but he knew he couldn't ask Mr. Lupin to make pancakes so he kept searching. Mr. Lupin had an odd assortment of food in his fridge, almost like he didn't really know what to get so he had gotten one of everything. Unbeknownst to Harry, this was quite the case, seeing as how Remus had been overwhelmed by the choices and knowing he could get anything he wanted. He had gotten everything from olives to sardines, from frozen pizza to frozen gravy, from kumquats to kiwis. 

Harry's eyes kept falling on the pancake mix again and again. Oh, how he loved pancakes! He often thought he could eat them for every meal of the day, every day, for the rest of his life and still not be tired of them. But still, he certainly wasn't going to be rude, and especially not on his first day with Mr. Lupin. He licked his lips as he stared longingly at the picture of the fluffy golden pancakes on the box. 

"I've seen you come back to those pancakes a few times, Harry," Remus said. "Do you want some?" 

Harry, who wanted more than anything at the moment to say yes, said, "Oh, no, sir. I couldn't ask you to make those just for me--"

"Oh, come on, it'll be fun!" Remus said, reaching over and taking the box out of the fridge. 

"I've never made pancakes before." Remus quickly read the back of the box and got all the necessary ingredients out of the fridge. Harry helped by getting a flat pan out and turning the stove on. Remus handed him an apron and put one on himself, and the two proceeded to mix up the batter. 

"You act like a pro in the kitchen, Harry," Remus smiled. "I hear from your aunt that you're quite the chef." 

Harry smiled sheepishly. "I just...I just do what she tells me to do," he said quietly. 

"Oh, come now. Why do you think your aunt lets you cook with her instead of your cousin? You're the better cook, of course," Remus said. Harry, who was normally very reserved and shy around strangers, broke into a brilliant grin that made Remus smile. Both knew Dudley didn't have to cook because his mother prized him too much, but for Harry, it was nice to think that maybe he could do something right after all. The smile didn't last long, however, and Harry's usual somber expression returned momentarily. 

While Harry continued to mix the batter, Remus set the table. Harry was much different that he had been expecting. For one, Remus had figured Harry would immediately become the spitting image of his father once out of the Dursley atmosphere, but this didn't seem to be the case. Remus was suddenly overwhelmed by a feeling of sadness; this little boy standing in his kitchen was the last physical remnant of his two late best friends. Even as an infant Harry was a completely different person; Remus remembered how Harry tugged at his hair playfully on his first visit to James and Lily's house after Harry had been born. As the months passed Harry quickly turned into a little ball of energy who always seemed to have a smile for Remus (or a little vomit, or both). He had never seen two prouder parents than James and Lily, whose doting on Harry bordered on insanity at times ("James, don't you think Harry's too young for a broomstick?" "Nonsense, the kid's a natural."). Sighing inwardly, Remus realized that the Harry Potter standing in front of him wasn't the same Harry Potter he'd last seen nearly eight years ago.

"Mr. Lupin? I think its ready. Its not lumpy anymore," Harry said, tearing Remus from his thoughts. 

"All right." 

Remus helped Harry pour five pools of batter onto the pan and unintentionally showed him the wrong way to flip a pancake, by flipping it high into the air and watching it stick to the ceiling. But, by the time the pancakes were a golden brown, Harry had gotten so he could flip them into the air and have them land back in the pan. Remus, proud but envious, served Harry three of the surviving pancakes and kept one for himself. 

Harry looked up at him worriedly. "We can split them, Mr. Lupin, if you want." 

Remus shook his head. "Of course not. You're the guest. Plus, you're skin and bones. And call me Remus. 'Mr. Lupin' makes me sound like a teacher," he said, shuddering inwardly at the thought. 

Harry grinned and dug in gratefully to the precious mounds of the fluffy cakes in front of him. He thought they had never tasted so good. 

"Thanks, Mr. Lup--Remus," he said with his mouth full. 

"I have to admit," Remus said, with his mouth also full, "These things aren't bad. They have some potential." Harry finished his three before Remus was finished with his one. 

Remus looked up at him in surprise. "You were hungry, hm?" 

Harry blushed. "Yes, sir."

"Well Harry, what do you usually do in the afternoons?" Remus said, sitting back in his seat. 

"I...um...well...usually I do chores, or homework..." 

"And what if you didn't have to do either?" 

Harry blinked. "I...I don't know...I don't think that's ever happened..." 

"Let's try this, then. What do you like best in the whole world?" 

Harry closed his eyes shut tight in concentration. He liked chocolate sundaes a lot. He also liked swing rides, and sunny days, but really, he thought to himself, the thing he liked best were stories. He couldn't read very fast, and wasn't allowed to use the library, so he couldn't read them himself. But sometimes the teacher at school would read them a book, or tell them a story, and that was always Harry's favorite part of the day. He remembered when he was younger, sometimes he could hear Aunt Petunia telling Dudley a story before bedtime, and Harry would always strain his ears to be able to hear it too. "Well..." he started reluctantly. "It sounds...it sounds kinda babyish..." 

"What is it?" 

"I like...I like stories," Harry said so quietly Remus almost didn't hear him. 

"Stories?"

"Not the little kid stories!" Harry said defensively. "I don't like Cinderella or Three Little Bears. I'm not a little kid," he said. 

"Of course not," Remus replied agreeably, trying not to smile. "Men like us have more mature tastes." 

"Yeah," Harry said firmly, nodding sharply. "More matcher tastes." 

"Hm..." Remus mused, standing up and beginning to pace in the kitchen. "I bet I could come up with a good story..." Really, he was no good with stories; the only funny stories he knew were the true memories of adventures with the Marauders. Remus stopped; maybe this was his golden opportunity to introduce Harry to the memory of his father. Of course, he wouldn't tell Harry the truth just yet. No, he could disguise the truth in the form of a story for Harry. He wouldn't even have to use their real names; their nicknames would do just fine for the time being! He snapped his fingers. "Got one!"

Harry said nothing, but looked up at him eagerly.

"Once upon a time, there were four boys who went to a very special school," Remus started. "They were all best friends and loved adventure in any form." 

"What were their names?" Harry cried. 

"Their names? Moony...Padfoot...Wormtail...and Prongs," Remus said, over pronouncing each name as if to remind himself of something long, long ago. 

"Those are funny names!" 

"Well, these were no ordinary boys, Harry. They called themselves the Marauders and thought they were very clever." He searched through his memory, trying to come up with a story that would impress a nine year old. Remus smiled as he thought of something and looked down at Harry. "Do you want to hear about the time they found hidden treasure?" 

"Yeah, yeah!" Harry said excitedly, hopping from foot to foot. 

"Well all right. There was an ancient myth in this school of theirs, one about hidden treasure that was lost over six hundred years ago. No one had ever been able to find it..."

"Looks like another dead end, you guys," Remus sighed, hunching over with his chest almost touching his knees and being careful so as to not bump his head on the rocky ceiling. Sirius wasn't so careful, however, and when he swiveled around to retort, he thumped his head on the ceiling. 

"Ow!" he cried, putting both hands over his head. "I think Moony's right, Prongs, we hit another dead end." 

"Nonsense," James said in an impatient voice. "This has got to be it. I just know it." 

"I highly doubt it," Sirius said in a droll voice, pointing apathetically at the solid rock wall just ahead. "Face it, this treasure just doesn't exist. Its an old Hogwarts myth." 

"There is no such thing as an old myth at Hogwarts, you know that," James said, scratching his head. "Everything is based on something, we just don't always know what." 

"So who cares about a bunch of hidden treasure, anyway?" Peter said, sitting down and clutching his stomach. "Its cold in here, and I'm hungry." 

"Skipping dinner certainly wouldn't kill you, Wormtail," Sirius said with an arched eyebrow. "We've searched every nook and cranny of Hogwarts. We've been all over this castle." 

"And if it did exist, why wouldn't the Marauder's Map be showing it?" Remus asked in a confused tone, consulting the Map for what seemed like the hundredth time since they began searching for the treasure, weeks ago.

"It doesn't show it because it doesn't exist," Sirius said, looking straight at James. "All we're doing is risking our necks. If we get caught again, I just know I'm going to have to clean out the boys lavatories again. I don't know about anyone else, but I refuse to spend another Saturday night cleaning urinals." 

Remus nodded. "James is the only one who seems convinced of this so-called 'treasure'."

James couldn't help but smile at the look on his best friends' faces. "Sorry, everyone. Its not that I want the treasure so much, it just bugs me that we can't find it, that's all. We're the Marauders, we can do anything!" 

"Except find hidden treasure," Remus added darkly. "We can crawl around in hidden caves all day and all night, but face it, there is no treasure. We would have found it by now." 

"Agreed," Sirius said, stooping low and making his way out of the dark cave. Remus and Peter followed, leaving James hunched over in the dark without a light. 

"You guys! Get back here, maybe there's something behind this wall! Come on, where's your sense of adventure? Guys? Guys!" 

Sirius emerged from the hidden tunnel first, cautious that no one was watching them. Remus was next, and Peter was last, coughing from the dust in the tunnel. 

"Well that's that," Sirius said, dusting his hands off. "There is no treasure. Case closed." 

"Too bad, really," Remus said in a melancholy voice. "I would have liked to retire at age 17." 

Just then, James emerged from the tunnel covered in dust and with a dirty look on his face. "Of all the nights not to have my wand with me..." he muttered to himself as he dusted his cloak off. 

"Well," Sirius started in a smug voice, "What do you think of your treasure now, Prongs? Still going to hunt for it?" 

"Look, its out there somewhere," James said. "Just not where we thought it'd be. It could anywhere, you know. Anywhere! And I'm going to find it." 

"Famous last words," Remus snickered to Sirius. 

"I will!" James said defiantly, clenching his fists to his sides. "Laugh all you want, call it not real, but how do we know until we've really looked?" 

Peter pointed to the dust covering his cloaks. "And what do you think we were doing just now?"

"The castle isn't the only place it could be!" James cried, very frustrated by this point. "It could be outside, or...or in the lake, or the forest..." 

"Come on boys, let's go," Sirius said wearily to Remus and Peter. "Good luck with your little treasure hunt, Prongs." 

Sirius, Peter and Remus began to wander off towards the Gryffindor Tower as James watched them go. 

"I thought we were the Marauders!" he called after them in a hurt voice. "I thought we did everything together, whether it was impossible or not!" 

"Goodnight, James," Sirius called back in an oddly stern voice. Sirius only called James by his real name when he was really upset or angry, and it always took James by surprise to hear his own name coming out of Sirius' mouth. 

James sighed and stood alone in the vast hallway for close to a minute before moving a muscle. He had been so sure this time that they were going to find it. He seemed to be the only one who believed that the old legend of the Hogwarts treasure might be true. They had spend the last two weeks searching the castle from top to bottom with no luck. Tonight, after being let down again, it was too much for James and he decided to get some fresh air. 

Though he technically wasn't supposed to be wandering around the grounds at night, he often went and sat by the lake whenever he was feeling upset or sad. He had come here before when he was feeling depressed, angry or miserable, but he had never come feeling like he didn't have any friends. 

James sat down and put his chin in his hands. "Stupid treasure," he muttered to himself. "No matter how many gold pieces or diamonds are in there, they're not worth the price of a friendship..." 

Suddenly, James heard a painful wail coming somewhere from deep in the forest. He instinctively shot up and looked around, searching for the source, but not seeing anything. Another painful cry rose up, and before James could think better of it, he was off and running into the Forbidden Forest to help whatever was in trouble. 

Meanwhile, up in the Gryffindor Tower, Sirius sat in a comfortable chair near the fire, staring evenly at the flames. Remus was nearby, doing more or less the same thing. Sirius sighed heavily, breaking Remus from his daze. 

"What is it?" he asked softly. 

"I shouldn't have been so short with Prongs," Sirius said in a small voice. "That treasure means so damn much to him...and once he sets his mind on doing something, he's determined to do it." He sighed again. "We've got to go find him." 

Remus nodded and Sirius led the way down the tower. "Where do you suppose he'd be?" Remus asked as they walked down the stairs. 

"The lake, probably. Where he always goes when he's upset." 

As Remus and Sirius were on their way to the lake, James was fighting his way through bramble and thorns, still following the haunting voice calling for help. He knew this was a stupid idea, but what did he have to lose now anyway? Who would miss him?

With this thought in mind, he fought harder and eventually reached a clearing with hundreds of thick clinging vines hanging down to the ground and a dirty pond in the middle. James immediately saw who was in trouble; it was a centaur, drowning in the pond, caught in the vines with no way to untangle himself to get to safety. The vines encircled him, making it impossible to escape their deadly cling. The centaur was just barely able to keep his head above the surface, and was using all of his energy in calling for help. 

"HELP! HELP!" he called mournfully. 

"Its ok! I'm going to get you out!" James shouted back, grabbing the nearest vine and throwing it out to the drowning animal. "Hold on to this, and I'll pull you to safety!" The centaur did, and James began to pull with all his might. The centaur was panicking, and pulling the vine more and more into the water, and James, still with a death grip on the vine, was trying to pull him out. He saw only too late how close he was to the pond himself, and before he knew it, he was entangled in the vines and wet with the water that surrounded him. 

"I thought you were going to save me!" the centaur wailed. 

"I thought I was too, until you pulled me in here!" James growled, trying to grab hold of a vine so he could hoist himself out. "In case you're ever drowning in a pond of hanging vines again, and someone has the idiocy to want to save you, just hold on to the vine, and your rescuer will do the pulling," he snarled, losing ground fast and beginning to slip below the surface. "HEEEEELLLP!!!" he cried in a last desperate attempt for assistance before losing his grip. 

Lucky for him, Remus and Sirius had recognized his voice and were bolting through the forest at top speed. "Prongs! Hold on!" Sirius shouted as loud as he could. 

"Sirius! Over here!" Remus cried as he reached the clearing where the centaur and James were currently drowning. Remus grabbed a vine and threw it to James, who managed to only grasp the end of it. He was fast losing strength and didn't know how much longer he could hold on...

"James!" Sirius howled frantically at the sight of his best friend drowning. "Hold on James, we'll get you out!" Sirius got in front of Remus and pulled the vine with every last ounce of strength he had in him. It didn't seem to be doing any good, and Sirius had flashes of a horrible outcome; pulling the body of his best friend out of a scummy pond, going to his funeral, graduating from Hogwarts without him. With these thoughts fueling his force, Sirius pooled all of his strength and gave one last terrific wrench of the vine, and out of the water popped James, sputtering and coughing, but alive. 

Not hesitating for a second, Sirius ran over and grabbed his best friend by the arms and dragged him out. James lay on the ground for a moment, coughing violently and spitting out mouthfuls of dirty water. He finally got his breath back enough to croak, "Si--Sirius, you--you saved me..." 

"What are best friends for, aye?" Sirius said with a relieved grin, helping James to his feet. "I thought I'd lost you, Prongs." 

"The centaur!" Remus shouted, throwing another vine out and beginning to pull. Losing no time, both Sirius and James helped in the struggle, and before long a wet, unhappy looking creature was shaking itself off on land. 

"Thank you," he said modestly. "I would have surely died if it hadn't been for your bravery." 

"We do what we can," Sirius said in a cocky voice. All three had turned around to leave when the centaur said in a melodramatic voice, 

"Such a deed surely deserves a reward. You have been searching for treasure, have you not?" 

"How did you know that?" James asked, turning around and walking back towards the centaur. 

"I know many things," the creature said softly. "Like where a certain treasure might be located." All sets of ears perked at this point as they waited for the centaur to continue. 

"There is a large tree not too far from here with a picture of a dagger carved into the trunk. A giant tree with purple leaves. If you go to this tree and push your hand against the picture, it will open for you."

A loud whoop erupted from all three boys as they took off running through the forest, bounding between each other and weaving through one another's paths. A cry from James signaled he'd found the tree and indeed, there was a picture of an ancient looking dagger carved into the trunk. 

"No wonder it wasn't showing up on the map!" Remus cried eagerly. "It was in the forest the whole time!"

James fervently slammed the dagger picture and the bottom of the trunk opened to reveal a small wooden chest that was cracked open just enough to let the observer realize that there was something of value inside. With trembling hands, James flipped the lid back to reveal shimmering mounds of gold and rubies. Remus stared with his jaw agape; Sirius licked his lips; James fainted. 

"They found it! They found it!" Harry cried gleefully, clapping his hands. "Hooray for the Marauders!"

"And there were many more adventures before and after that," Remus said, still smiling from the recollection. "When they were together, they thought they could do anything. They were invincible." The smile faded as old memories began to resurface in Remus' mind. "Or, at least they were. A long time ago."

A curious look crossed Harry's face but quickly vanished when the doorbell rang. "That's my aunt," he said in a meek voice. He shoved his hands in his pockets. "I gotta go home now." 

Remus led him to the door. "Well, I'll see you tomorrow, ok?" 

"Ok. Thank you for the pancakes." He pushed his glasses up and gave Remus a small smile. He liked Remus; he was different, somehow. He had something else that no one else did. 

"Well, did he behave himself today?" Aunt Petunia barked to Remus once he opened the door, ignoring Harry completely. 

Remus smiled grimly. "Absolutely, Mrs. Dursley. The epitome of model behavior." 

"If we could only be so lucky at home," Petunia said, finally turning her acute gaze down to Harry, who instinctively cowered behind Remus' leg. "Come on, then. You can't stay here all day." 

Almost reluctantly, Harry picked up his book bag near the door and followed Aunt Petunia down the walk. Remus watched them go, and winked at Harry when he glanced back at the end of the driveway. 

Though the bad memories of James, Sirius and Peter were horrible, Remus couldn't help but feel a little twinge of triumph at the fact that he had impressed Harry with a Marauder story. His school days had been the best part of his life, and to be able to sit back and tell stories about it to eager ears made Remus feel, in some senses, a sort of quiet peace with his past. 

Snickering to himself, Remus realized he hadn't had the heart to tell Harry the rest of the story...

The three boys headed quickly back to Hogwarts, gibbering endlessly about what they were going to do with their share of the money. Remus was going to buy all new cloaks and a new home for his family; Sirius was going to buy his own private island in the Caribbean; James was going to buy the entire Quidditch team new brooms and uniforms. 

"Not so fast," creaked a familiar voice in the dark. A bright light appeared next to the ancient-looking woman's face. "A late night adventure, boys?" 

"Good evening, Professor McGonagall," Sirius said in a chivalrous voice. "Late night adventure? No, not us, Professor." 

"Never," Remus added. 

"Wouldn't dream of it," James said. 

"I see," McGonagall said crisply. "So what is that we have in our hands?" 

"This? Oh, nothing!" 

"Just an old box, really." 

"Really," she said in an unconvinced voice. She opened the lid of the box with her index finger and frowned. "I see you've found the Hogwarts Treasure. Congratulations, boys. Its taken six hundred years for anyone to find it." She looked up sharply. "Of course, finding this treasure meant you were breaking curfew, which means you'll have to be punished." She arched an eyebrow at Sirius. "Are you busy Saturday night, Mr. Black? I'm sure the boys lavatories could use a good going over." Sirius cringed. "Or, could it be that you intended to retrieve the treasure so you could make a donation to Hogwarts?" 

"What?!" all three cried simultaneously.

"Collecting charity wouldn't be considered a punishable offense. And heaven knows, with the amount of trouble you three have gotten yourself into over these last years, expulsion may suggested to Professor Dumbledore if you break one more rule." The three opened their mouths to protest, but McGonagall silenced them by holding up her hand. "You know boys, the teacher's lounge could certainly use some new furniture. And the amount of what is in that box might very well be enough to cover the costs." 

James sighed loudly, not wanting to fight a losing battle. "Fine! Here," he said, shoving the box at McGonagall. "But you'll have to live with the knowledge that you ruined three boy's dreams!" 

"Then my work here is done," she said with a dour smile. "I bid you goodnight, gentlemen." As quickly as she came, McGonagall was gone with their treasure. 

Sirius scoffed. "Great! That may be the only hidden treasure we ever find in our lives, and ironically, its going to buy new chairs for people we cause the most trouble for! Oh, fate! What a foul temptress!" he cried dramatically, falling on his back in feigned weakness. 

James put a hand to his forehead and said in a weepy voice, "Where for art thy cruel hands of destiny! 'Lo, I flail!" He flopped down also. 

Remus laughed and fell to the ground as well. "You guys are such wusses!" 

Sirius and James shot up, glaring down at Remus. He smiled weakly and they attacked him right there on the lawn, wrestling each other and laughing hard. Cloaks were pulled, punches flew, and lots of fake howling rang out, but finally all three collapsed from exhaustion on the grass. 

"You know," James panted. "Its doesn't really matter that we don't have that stupid treasure. I have all I ever wanted right here." 

"Really? If I were you, I'd want a less girly punch," Sirius laughed. As a response James punched him on the shoulder hard and Sirius, though grimacing, grinned. "There, see? Got your wish." 

"Prongs is right," Remus said. "Money isn't really worth anything when you get to thinking about it. You can't put a price on a sunny day, or a really good adventure, or even a night spent wrestling with your best friends." 

"The Marauders are we, the Marauders three," Sirius said, stifling a yawn as a glint of sunlight played on the horizon. 

"Feel like watching the sunrise, boys?" 

"Sure, why not..."


End file.
